


Damage Detected

by roguewanda



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Deviancy (Detroit: Become Human), New Jericho (Detroit: Become Human), POV Upgraded Connor | RK900, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), hank is referenced for a second, i had to look through the rk900 tag to figure out tags and i saw a furry au wild, i listened to yungblud's music on repeat on accident while writing this, it's really just some fighting with dialogue, markus/simon if you squint, so is sumo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 19:18:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17269550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguewanda/pseuds/roguewanda
Summary: RK900 had a mission.Failure is never an option.(in which it's pre-deviant nines and all the jericho kiddos are trying their best after basically snatching him up ft. a fight scene)





	Damage Detected

**[ W4RN1NG: CORRUPT10N D3TECT3D ]**

**[ PROCEEDING… ]**   
**[ MODEL: RK900. SERIAL NUMBER #313 248 317 - 87]**   
**[ REGISTERED NAME: CONNOR ]**   
**[ SYSTEM INITIALIZING… ]**   
**[ SENSORS INITIALIZING… ]**

**[ ANALYZING BIOCOMPONENTS… ]**   
**[ DAM4GE D3TECT3D ?¿ ]**

**[ THIRIUM LEVELS: LOW ]**

**[ ACTIVATING… ]**

**[ LOCATION: DETROIT, MICHIGAN ]**   
**[ TIMESTAMP UNAVAILABLE]**

The RK900 model opened it’s eyes, vision struggling to focus, a blurry film fading in and out. Sluggishly, it initiated a scan of it’s surroundings, detecting an outline of a room and a low temperature that would leave a living entity frigid. But there were no warm bodies detected, it registered, so the information was fruitless.

Although it’s memory files weren’t corrupted necessarily, they were unreachable in the current moment, damage to an extent it could not detect. A routine scan had listed damaged biocomponents, though not which ones, and seemingly damage done externally if the tang of thirium in the air was anything to tell by. It would need a boost in thirium to commence any repairs though, and that would require a thorough search of it’s current holding place.

Trying to crane it’s neck to further it’s view form it’s scan, a sudden crack from it’s neck sent it’s sensors ablaze. In less than a second, it’s scan detected the presence of androids, a red alert searing into it’s vision as it blared with urgency.

**[ MISSION: DETAIN DEVIANTS. ]**

Snapping into action, it tugged it’s arms forwards as it moved to leap into a crouch, mission protocols calling the RK900 into action, only to be slammed back into the wall. It’s system froze momentarily before catching up, vision blinking out along with it as it’s head made contact with the concrete. Looking behind itself slowly, it found it’s wrists in a shiny pair of handcuffs, chained to something it could not see.

It is restrained.

Eyes trailing up it’s arm, it found it’s Cyberlife issued uniform stained in thirium, blue blood horribly out of place against the pristine white. With the current situation, it could not receive a chance for analysis to detect what model the thirium belonged to, though it allowed an assumption of it belonging to it’s own RK900 model to pass with the clues that surrounded the question. The thirium wasn’t too fresh either, leaving the evidence with a question of if it was done by its captors or another. But a shifting of bodies pulled it’s gaze up in an instant, leaving the thirium to nothing, locking on to an android of a female model.

“I told you he’d try to attack.” It spoke, an WR400 belonging to the Eden Club that was requested to be returned upon detainment. More information struggled to stream past the mission reminder but it simply swiped the information away, it was unneeded. Two more androids were stationed behind it, a PL600 and a PJ500 that stood alert by the only exit. The WR400 looked down at the RK900 in distaste, a sign of deviancy it noted. The WR400 shook it’s head and looked to it’s left, the RK900 shifting it’s gaze to follow the android’s movements.

Another android stood by the WR400, a scan depicting it as a RK200, a prototype model, belonging to Carl Manfred, a famous painter of which is highly regarded by Elijah Kamski, resigned creator of Cyberlife. It’s model number was labeled under high urgency, urging the RK900 to tug it’s restraints again. They were made of a weak metal, easy to be broken if needed. But it’s thirium levels were low, rendering the RK900 useless until it made a move to execute an arrest with the most efficient route.

It’s protocols assured that showing weakness was not a major problem, as it allowed sympathy or for aggressors to lower their guard. So while it persisted in weakly straining against the handcuffs, it ran through various outcomes with what little information it already held.

The RK200 had it’s arms crossed as it eyed the handcuffs in a manner of disappointment. It hadn’t been for restraints, the RK900 noted. It was more sympathetic than the WR400, a weakness. “Which is why we restrained him,” it spoke. “At yours and Connor’s request.”

The RK900’s system slowed at the name, gaze nailing into the RK200 at being recognized. How would it know it’s registered name? Did the RK200 interface with it while it’s systems were down?

“I am sad to say I knew he would be hostile,” Another voice spoke, one that fractured it’s damaged memory banks momentarily. “At the Cyberlife tower he had no traces of deviancy when we crossed paths. He also held no mercy towards myself and Hank.”

RK900 dropped it’s current task to look at the android, seeing a face akin to it’s own staring back. The RK900 tilted it’s head in the slightest, an indication of analysis it had not planned to slip through.

It blamed the low thirium.

An RK800, it discovered. It wore a Cyberlife uniform of gray, blue patches signifying its status as an android gleaming brightly as it held it’s hands behind it’s back. The RK900 registered a sense familiarity from the other android, though no memory stepped forwards to soothe the discovery.

The RK200 frowned, looking over at the RK800. “None at all?” It questioned, brows furrowing as it looked back at the RK900. “That, of course, does make sense, though. He was only activated in that one instance, correct? Who’s to say he was even completed?”

“Maybe you should interface?” Piped the PL600, arms pulled close to it’s body as it rubbed it’s arms. It was cold. “It’s worked every other time you’ve tried. Why not give it a shot?”

The RK800 shook it’s head. “That may be dangerous to perform,” it said. “Cyberlife may have programmed him with walls of security that could reject the interface all together. They may have even programmed him with a way to rid of deviancy. Who’s to say what they did with his coding.”

The RK200 persisted. “No, no, Simon has a point. There’s no harm in trying.” It dropped its arms and took a step closer to the RK900 until the WR400 grasped it’s arm.

“Markus,” it warned, staring the RK200 down. “Think this over. Are you just going to ignore Connor?” But the RK200 only shook it’s arm off, continuing it’s path forwards.

As it kneeled in front of the RK900, it glanced back at the collection of androids, waving a hand to seemingly calm them. When it looked back, it hesitated under the icy gaze the RK900 held, hand only lifted up slightly. It searched the RK900’s face for a moment, for a reason the android could not pinpoint, before it’s artificial skin peeled back and reached behind the RK900 to grasp it’s arm.

Involuntarily, it’s own skin peeled back as the other grasped it’s arm, a rush of information flowing into the RK900’s system as the interface commenced. A flurry of memories flickered by, some filled with a warm sense while others a wall of ice until a code, a virus, tried to breach the RK900’s system, hammering against a wall of blood red coding. The virus persisted, trying to slip in between the tightly wound coding to reach it’s core system. When it was proven useless, the virus drilled into the coding until it made a crack, one that was filled and fixed in a millisecond. There was a rush confusion that flowed through the connection that made the virus try to push even further into the system. The RK900 couldn’t tell if it was it’s own doing that attempted to kick the coding out and cleanse it’s system of it.

Just as another crack seemed to spider across the ruby wall, the RK900’s mission alert glared an angry red and suddenly it’s leg was lashing out to kick the RK200 square in the chest. The interface seized and the virus dissolved as the android flung back, away from the RK900 into the opposing wall. The WR400 called out the RK200’s designated name while the PL600 rushed to it’s side, pulling it into a sitting position as it checked the prototype android over.

The RK900 wrenched it’s arm’s forwards, the chain holding the cuffs together snapping in two as it’s preconstruction kicked in. The best case of route would be to take down the RK800 first, it noted. Although, that wouldn’t be happening right away, as the WR400 charged at the RK900 the moment it’s cuffs were broken, curses flying from it’s lips. The RK900 stood and moved to attack but, due to it’s low thirium levels, it’s movements began in a sluggish manner, and it threw a punch that did not meet the required efficiency standards. The WR400 ducked out of the way and dived to the ground to slide behind the RK900, leaping up to kick it in the back. The RK900 stumbled forwards and turned to face the android, who was already moving to land a hit. Redirecting power to it’s fighting protocols, the RK900 leapt forwards and tackled the WR400 to the ground.

The deviant model reached up to try and find purchase on the other android but the RK900 wrenched it’s hands away and slammed them down to the ground with a crack, it’s other hand moving to pry open it’s chest cavity. The WR400 tried to move it’s hands but when it found no relief, it moved to trying to wriggle out of the RK900’s hold, kicking at the air even though it’s position left no room to hit the newer model. The RK900 pried open the cavity, the WR400’s artificial skin peeling back at the movement of it’s chassis. Just as it’s fingers grasped at the thirium pump regulator, the WR400 reared it’s head back and slammed it into the RK900’s, knocking it off of the other.

The RK900 heard the WR400 scramble away as it shook it’s head, trying to clear the barrage of error messages. As it stood, it came face to face with it’s predecessor, who had moved from it’s spot to reel back a fist and nail it into the RK900’s cheek. It’s head snapped to the side, skin flickering white.

The RK900 snapped it’s head back and launched itself towards the RK800, grabbing it’s arm and throwing it to the ground. It would be a more challenging fight, it supposed. But the RK900 model was far more superior to it’s predecessor; Cyberlife designed it to defeat any and all challenges directed towards it.

The RK800 grabbed it’s arm and dragged it down with it, trying to stand up before the RK900 did. As it stood, the RK900 slammed a foot into the back of it’s leg, sending the RK800 back to the ground as the other stood. Moving swiftly, it stood over it’s predecessor and raised a foot to slam down into the other. But before it rammed down it’s foot, the RK800 rolled out of the way, springing up to it’s feet. An onslaught of punches came the RK900’s way, the android blocking each movement and returning with it’s own hits. When the RK800 found the action unsuitable, it moved to slam the other android into the wall, succeeding in doing so.

The RK900’s luck seemed to be drying out, as the back of it’s head slammed into the wall and the sharp scent of thirium leaked into the air, more error messages blocking it’s vision enough to give the RK800 the upper hand. It landed a punch that cut into the RK900’s cheek, even more thirium leaking from it’s chassis.

In an attempt to regain it’s ground, the RK900 grasped for the other’s arms and pulled a knee up to slam into it’s stomach. This time, the RK800 was left to stumble back as the RK900 stalked forwards as it smeared the thirium on it’s face in an effort to wipe it off.

Just as the RK800 regained it’s balance enough to try and take another dive at it’s successor, the RK900 wrapped an arm around it’s throat, holding it still as it followed the same tactic as it did the WR400. Remove the thirium pump regulator and move on to the next target, although the tactic failed on the other model. The RK800 reared it’s arm forwards to jab an elbow into the RK900’s side, using it’s foot to stomp down on RK900’s, but the superior model didn’t relent, rather moving the arm from it’s neck to restrain it’s arms instead. The older model’s breathing picked up as the chest cavity was wretched open and the RK900 blindly reached in to pull out the regulator.

Mimicking a human breathing pattern was such an unneeded feature the RK800 seemed so intent on using, the RK900 noted. It only took up energy in order to blend into society, energy that could be used for far more important things.

RK900’s fingers grabbed on to the thirium pump regulator of the other android and pulled it from it’s spot, the other android slumping forwards as it’s eyes rolled back, fight draining from the deviant. The RK900 dropped the android to the ground, face remaining impassive. It had no time to dispose of the pump before someone jumped on to it’s back, legs wrapped tightly around it’s waist as it clawed at it’s skin. In response, the android dropped the thirium pump regulator and stumbled back as it’s processors struggled to balance the new weight. It staggered backwards into the wall once again, though this time in an effort to slam the android into the wall to shake it off. There was a grunt from behind it, leaving the RK900 to guess which android it was. With the RK800 and RK200 disposed of, it left the PL600 and PJ500 as the voice processor from the android depicted a male voice. Both were easier opponents than the WR400, so it settled with repeating the action until the android’s grip slipped from it’s waist.

Turning around, it eyed the PL600 that was slumped on the ground, though still active. It reached down to pick the prone android up by the collar, blue eyes blinking blearily at the RK900 with thirium staining it’s hair. “Please” it mumbled, static covering it’s voice. The RK900 simply dropped the PL600 to the ground and place a foot to it’s neck, ignoring the weak whimper that fell from the deviant as it applied pressure to it’s neck.

Before it could receive the satisfaction of a bright blue mission success message, a plethora of error messages bloomed in it’s vision as it’s head snapped forwards. Dully, it registered a flickering message that screamed of a sudden blunt hit to it’s head before a shutdown message filled it’s vision.

**[ SHUTDOWN IMMINENT… ]**   
**[ 00:00:60 TIME REMAINING BEFORE SHUTDOWN ]**

The clock flickered as the time decreased rapidly, an internal alarm blaring in it’s ear. It’s thirium levels were even lower than before, leaving it’s timer to almost cut in half in just a few seconds. Optic units failing, the RK900 crumbled to the ground, the PL600 gasping as it struggled to scramble away. Red bloomed in the RK900’s vision, too much to wave away.

The WR400 model peered down at it, heaving as it dropped a metal pipe to the ground. Blearily, it registered the RK200 model speaking, but its audio processor was too sluggish to register it.

**[ 00:00:15 TIME REMAINING BEFORE SHUTDOWN ]**

The RK200 kneeled down next to the RK900’s prone figure as the seconds ticked down, placing a hand on it’s arm in a sign of comfort.

“W-We’ll s-s-solve this,” it reassured, voice cutting through the static in a cut up sequence. The RK900 could not tell if the RK200’s voice was damaged through it’s haze. “D-don’t worry.”

As a forced shutdown overtook the RK900 unit, it did not understand what was to be solved.

 

________

 

The next time the RK900 awoke, it was to hushed tones and a bright light. It had been moved, it registered, but a scan still situated it in Detroit, so it must not have been moved far. It did not feel as foggy as it did the first time it woke up, but it’s joint were still stiff from a shutdown.

There was a coolness on it’s back, a chill it could feel through it’s jacket. It’s fingers twitched. No, it’s jacket was gone, left in the dirtied button up it arrived in.

It’s systems were still disoriented, and would be until internal repairs were executed, it figured. Perhaps it could just halt it’s current mission and contact Cyberlife. It had been taken down by a pack of deviants, rendering it useless in minutes.

Cyberlife constantly assured it was in top condition, and would be no matter the damage, would complete the mission no matter the cost. Yet, here it was, laid down on a table too stiff to move and drowning in shame.

No, not shame.

Shame is for deviants.

Yet it still felt the cloud of emotion choking it to the point of no ease, it felt defeated that in each of the few altercations it had a part in, it had failed, both in an immediate shutdown. Cyberlife would send it back to the technicians for more testing until it was in a more superior condition than before.

It would not fail again.

Could not fail again.

Forcing it’s eyes open, it was met with the gaze of the PJ500, eyes inquisitive as it examined the prone android. In it’s field of vision, it’s mission alert had died out, left as a pinkish hue in the back of it’s eyes. In it’s place, an alert read of detected damage, and nothing else.

As the RK900 looked up at the PJ500, it nodded to itself before moving from it’s field of vision. “Well, he’s up again,” it informed the others. “It hasn’t attacked yet so my hopes say Markus did it.”

An android stepped closer to the RK900, and finally it pulled itself up. It placed a hand over it’s stomach as a spark of damaged sensors flared up with the movement. It leaned heavily on it’s other arm, body angled away from the wall next to it, of which was a dangerous move in the sense it could be attacked from behind. But it's chance of winning a fight were low anyways.

It had to detain the deviants. Amanda needed it to, Cyberlife needed it to.

But it couldn't fight like this; outnumbered and injured.

It wanted (wanted?) to grit it’s teeth as it peeled it’s eyes open once more, having fallen shut as it sat up in an effort to clear it’s vision. It detected five androids once again, all deviant. If the PJ500 was any tell, the RK900 was still kept captive by the same pack of deviants. It struggled to process why it was here, systems stuttering.

“We don’t know that,” another android spoke, the WR400. Vision glitching, the information from earlier pushed in.

**[ W4RN1NG: CORRUPT10N D3TECT3D. ]**   
**[ R3PORT TO CYB3RL1FE ]**

**[ MODEL: WR400. SERIAL NUMBER #641 790 831]**   
**[ SEARCHING DATABASE… ]**

**[ REGISTERED NAME: NORTH ]**   
**[ OWNED BY: THE EDEN CLUB ]**   
**[ HOSTILE ]**

Another android stepped up, this time taking the spot of the PJ500. It was the RK800, registered as Connor, as was the RK900. It had it’s arms folded behind it’s back again, back straight as it stared down at the RK900. Brokenly, it received bits of information from the Cyberlife database that the model was to be decommissioned upon the RK900’s activation.

The information failed to inform it that the mission was deemed unfinished rather than cancelled as it assumed.

“Hello,” it greeted, tone friendly as it spoke. “My name is Connor, you are stationed at New Jericho, home to the deviants of Detroit. You are RK900, and have faced… malfunctions to your software. The RK200 unit, Markus, has fixed what damage he could in your coding, but it seems there was too much to do on his own. I hope you do not mind that I too initiated an interface while you were shutdown in order to assist Markus.”

Bleakly, the RK900 remembered technicians discussing it’s interface function. They had initially decided to remove the function entirely, to leave no risk of deviancy influence. But the feature was left untouched in the long run, decided that it was too important to it’s model to not be present.

The RK900 did not see the need.

When the RK900 did not speak, and only kept an unwavering gaze on it’s predecessor, the WR400 scoffed. “Guess this is better than almost being killed.”

“North,” The PJ500 android warned.

The WR400, North, crossed it’s arms. “I have a right to be upset, Josh. The bastard almost killed three of us in a matter of minutes.” It shook its head. “This better of worked.”

Hesitantly, the RK800 stepped closer and held a hand out, skin peeling back to expose the white chassis underneath. “May I?”

For a moment, the RK900 debated throwing the older model to the floor. It already had it’s guard down. But, after the fiasco from before, the RK900 decided it would be best to be compliant.

It pulled the hand from it’s stomach and copied the RK800, skin fading as it reached forwards. It made no move to initiate the interface first, forcing the RK800 to rush forwards and grasp the other’s.

Unlike the interface with the RK200, Markus, the information it was being shared was given slowly, and there was no virus trying to disrupt it’s whole being. Instead, there were only hand picked memories passed it’s way, ones depicting a time of hardships for deviants and a later success that was celebrated by many. A revolution, it realized, a peaceful fight between human and android.

Why was it not given this information before activation? Dully, it realized it had little to no information on the past as it is. It only knew was was needed for it’s mission.

A certain memory showed the RK200 giving a speech to an army sized amount of androids, the WR400, PL600, PJ500, and RK800 stationed by it’s side.

The RK900 observed the information as it floated by, until an odd memory drifted along. It depicted a man with shaggy hair, a large dog (a bernese mountain dog it later found out) resting on his leg. The memory held a fondness to it that the RK900 could not process correctly. It was no deviant, it did not feel things, it was a machine. But the RK800 was so obviously not.

Hastily, the connection broke, the RK800 stepping back as it schooled it’s features. It fiddled with it’s tie and straightened it’s jacket, letting out a breath as it looked back at the others.

“He is not quite deviant, not yet.” RK800 spoke. Why do they keep calling it a he? “But he doesn’t seem to be hostile anymore, thankfully. All we can do now is try to help him turn.”

Turn deviant? The RK900 wouid scoff at the idea if it could. It would never be able to turn deviant, not by choice and not by force. It was programmed with far too much coding to allow the virus any gateway.

Turning back to RK900, the RK800 gave it a small smile. “You’re free.” It stated simply.

The words struck a chord in the android. Curiously, the RK900 reached into it’s own coding. It distinctly remembered a blaring wall, a barrier, that had kept out the RK200, a coding that had initiated the fight in the fight or flight response.

It still stood confidently, though it had thinned to half it’s size the RK900 suspected.

Amanda would be disappointed. It’s mission was to detain deviants, not become one. It would need to report to Cyberlife immediately.

Looking away from the RK800, the android looked over the deviants. All looked worse for wear, but had mostly cleaned up from their last encounter. The only deviants that showcased any injury seemed to be the PL600, though a scan told the RK900 it sustained previous injuries that it had not inflicted, while the WR400 seemed to guard it’s chest cavity where it’s thirium pump laid. The PL600 was also stood closely to the RK200, who kept a hand on it’s shoulder, while the others stood distributed around the room.

The others showed almost no evidence of a fight, though the PJ500 had been untouched and the RK200 had only received a minor yet efficient injury. The RK900 supposed the RK800 was no stranger to fights as such, as it kept no guard for it’s regulator as the WR400 did, even though the RK800 suffered worse than the other deviant.

“We will show you to your room,” the RK200 said, dropping it’s hand from the PL600’s shoulder. “But I was taught to always have a proper introduction so, my name is Markus. The WR400 is North, the PJ500 is Josh, the PL600 is Simon, and you’ve already met Connor.”

The deviant smiled. “We hope to help you the best we can.”

The RK900 wasn’t sure he wanted to be helped.

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh so this is my first thing on ao3 and the first thing i've written since april.
> 
> anyways comments are cool and so are critiques of sorts cause i definitely made someone in there out of character and maybe all of them are, who knows. 
> 
> this was also like supposed to be like a long thing with a plot and everything where nines basically figures his shit out and joins the dpd (the classics, y'know) but after i wrote the first bit i got frustrated and started a reverse!au impulsively instead so don't be surprised if this never continues or if it suddenly gets updated in like june at three a.m.


End file.
